Lips Don't Lie
by elilover2
Summary: I'm so sorry for this guys. I really am. Cedric dies in the third task and this is Oliver watching it unfold.


**A/N: Guys...I'm not going to lie...I like this pairing better than Drarry sometimes. But only sometimes. **

The Triwizard Tournament, a stupid defiance of death, and Cedric had been moronic enough to enter. Oliver shook his head as he watched his boyfriend bounce on the balls of his feet down below on the Quidditch field. He could tell, just by this gesture, that Ced was nervous. He grinned humorlessly at this. Usually, he felt his boyfriends emotions as an extension of his own, but these butterflies in his stomach were completely his.

"To be entering the field first..." Ludo Bagman's voice boomed, "Mr. Potter AND Mr. Diggory."

Oliver twisted his hands nervously as Ced disappeared into the maze with Harry at his side. It was a raging battle in Oliver, he wished both Potter AND Ced could win. Both meant more to him than anything else; Potter because he was the best Seeker Oliver had ever seen and Ced because...well because he was Ced.

A few minutes later Viktor entered the maze followed by Fleur. After that there was nothing left to do but wait.

Chatter broke out amongst the once breathless bystanders as soon as it was clear that no action was going to be seen. Most of the voices were lighthearted, most notably the voice of Amos Diggory. Mr. Diggory, Oliver noticed with a angry clenching of his teeth, was speaking as if nothing in the world could go wrong.

"Ced won't go wrong in there you can be sure of it!" His voice carried across the rows of people as he bragged to a small witch with gray curls. She was nodding assuredly but looked apprehensive.

"Oh no, it's perfectly safe." She tittered and Amos looked positively ecstatic.

"Perfectly safe? Perfectly life threatening if you ask me! But Ced is ten times more powerful than whatever they put in there! Even Potter!" He joked and the witch looked offended. She took a small step back.

"Harry Potter survived against You-Know-Who! I much prefer his chances to the likes of your Cedric!"

This was the wrong thing to say. Amos turned sour and whirled about to face the person to his left, a portly wizard, turning his back on the witch. Oliver shook his head and turned his attention back to the maze. Nothing moved, not even the leaves of the hedges, and he had to fight to keep breathing. Panic, something Oliver wasn't used to, was fighting his way towards his heart.

The night was coming on fast, soon it would be completely dark, and no one had gotten the cup yet. Oliver bit his lip and stared vainly at the opening of the maze. Nothing was visible beyond the first foot due to a sharp turn. Still he searched for some sign of a victorious Cedric or, preferably, a live one.

Night had arrived and still nothing had happened. Oliver swore under his breath as he gripped the railing of the stands, ready for something to occur.

And then, horrendously, something did: red sparks.

Red sparks in the middle of the maze. They lit up the sky and cast a bloody glow on a small surrounding area. Several gasps filled Oliver's ears and someone actually screamed. People who had been bored before were now paying rapt attention to the third and final task.

Wizards went in to the maze and disappeared. No one said anything, and Oliver figured (if they were anything like him) it was because they had no breath to say it with.

The wizards were gone for a long time and the quiet was pressing in on the crowd and on Oliver. All he could think was "Not Cedric" and all he was aware of was Amos' silence. He had finally realized the intensity of the situation.

After a long time the wizards reappeared carrying the form of Fleur and Viktor. Both were knocked out but looked fine otherwise. Oliver let out a small sign of relief, glad that it hadn't been Cedric, but afraid that he would be next.

"Ah, see," Amos, after the initial shock, was back to his usual self, "Nothing can harm my Ced."

Oliver, for once, found himself latching on to Amos' words. He hoped, more than anything, that the man was right.

Fleur and Viktor were carried away and the stadium returned to its beginning state. Voices began filling up the air and Oliver tried to relax. He imagined that, at that moment, Ced was grasping the Goblet and running back to the entrance. Or, perhaps they would come to him. Maybe the Cup was bewitched to bring the winner back to the beginning.

He waited with bated breath for any sign of conclusion. As the minutes ticked by he began to changeh his imaginings. Now, it was Harry who won, but Ced was a close second. Now, it was Harry who won, and Ced came out unscathed. And now, as the wait became unbearable, a faceless person appeared carrying a barely breathing but living Cedric.

And then, almost too random to register, a flash lit up the stadium and Harry Potter fell onto the grass. There was an instant uproar down on the field as wizards rushed to the scene. Dumbledore pushed his way to the front and knelt beside the boy.

Oliver stared at the black haired figure and then at the form beside him. It was a familiar form, something or someone he recognized. It wasn't moving and he wondered if they, whoever they were, was alive.

"My God..."

Amos' voice broke Oliver from his ponderings. It was deadly quiet and eerily calm.

"That's Cedric."

Oliver was confused. That was Harry...not Cedric.

"That's..." Amos paused, "That's...Cedric."

Oliver couldn't believe. Was Amos saying that the form...lying on the grass...was...?

"That's Cedric. That's my son."

His voice was rising in pitch, in strength, in desperation. And then, with a yelp, Amos was tearing towards the field.

"That's my son! That's my son!"

Oliver, against his own will, followed him. He tore after the figure who tore after the OTHER figure who lay on the grass and didn't breathe didn't move. He ran after the father of the only person he'd ever loved and couldn't believe it. Not one bit of it.

"THAT'S. MY. SON!" Amos' voice was pure anguish as he fell to his knees just outside the circle of wizards. He couldn't reach his son, his brave son. He couldn't reach his son because his son was just what he was not: brave.

But Oliver could, his feet took him there, and he fell to the ground beside what was once all he loved.

"Cedric." He moaned and threw his arms over the lifeless form.

"Cedric." He whimpered and he was crying and everyone was watching him but he didn't care.

He kissed him then, full on the lips, as if that would bring him back. He kissed Cedric but he was kissing lips of stone and the remained firm and unyielding. He kissed him hard and he pulled back. He kissed him soft and let his tears fall on the gray cheeks. When he pulled back he ran his hand down the face and ran his hands through the hair and kissed him once more.

He stood up, he walked away, and he didn't look back.

What was the point?


End file.
